Free Game for Five by Marco Malvaldi, Howard Curtis

in any way that’d be admissible in a court of law.”
    This time the effect was miraculous. The four of them turned to look at him as if they were one old man.
    â€œAnd how—” Del Tacca began, but was interrupted by Massimo.
    â€œI have no intention of telling you guys anything. Besides, we can’t be sure that Fusco will arrest the boy. He might not. Agreed, with the evidence he has at the moment he’d be an idiot not to, but nothing from him would surprise me.”
    â€œExcuse me, but in that case what are you planning to do?”
    â€œIf he doesn’t arrest him, nothing. It’s none of my business. If he does arrest him, I’ll try to explain what I think. In the meantime, you guys . . . ”—he realized the uselessness of what he was about to say, which was why he corrected himself—“ . . . tell the fewest people possible.”

SIX
    â€œâ€˜Did She Have a Date with her Killer?
    by Pericle Bartolini
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    â€œâ€˜Pineta: Alina Costa, the young woman brutally murdered in the early hours of Sunday morning, had a date with a friend, B. M., eighteen years old, the night she was killed. A date she did not keep, according to B. M. But the investigators have a different version. Yesterday, after an interrogation lasting more than four hours, Public Prosecutor Aurelio Bonanno officially placed the young man under investigation. His situation appears dire. According to the officer leading the investigation, Inspector Vinicio Fusco of the Pineta police, a reconstruction of the killer’s movements is compatible with the period of time (between nine- thirty on Saturday evening and six on Sunday morning) for which the young man is not able to supply an alibi. According to pathologist Dr. Walter Carli, the murder took place between midnight and one in the morning. Subsequently, according to a number of witnesses, the body of the unfortunate young woman was transported between four-thirty and five-thirty in the morning to the place where she was found by S. T., nineteen years old, a third-year student at Leonardo Da Vinci Technical High School.’”
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    It was about eleven in the morning, and Rimediotti’s high-pitched, impersonal voice was carefully declaiming the contents of the full-page article in
Il
Tirreno
, one of the five the newspaper had given over to the murder in its local pages. Ampelio and Del Tacca were at the same table, listening intently without interrupting. Aldo was out shopping for his restaurant, as he was every morning. Massimo, with his usual concentration, was arranging the croissants, fresh from the oven, on the tray in the window. Every half-hour, Massimo would take five croissants at a time out of the oven and put them on the tray. If there were any left over from the previous batch, he would take them and put them in one of the little bags in which, in the course of the day, everything left over and no longer fit to serve ended up. That way everyone was happy: the customers, who could always count on warm croissants, Massimo, who charged an extra twenty cents on top of the price to guarantee this certainty, and the guests of the municipal dog pound who disposed of the rest, whether hot or cold. The croissants came from a bakery in Pisa, ready to be heated in the oven. Massimo had them delivered every morning, and they were one of the many details he considered essential.
    Â 
    â€œâ€˜The killer, having driven to the parking lot in the car belonging to the victim, a dark green Clio, license number CJ 063 CG, was unable to leave the parking lot because the vehicle was stuck in one of the large puddles that have been common after downpours for the past few years, in spite of the local authorities’ repeated promises to take care of the problem. This was after depositing the body in one of the trashcans that—’”
    Â 
    â€œThat are just like the ones I’ve had in front of the entrance